


Fluff

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, LITERALLY, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, John wonders if there's something wrong with their washing machine or dryer. Then he wonders if it's his eyesight that's going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tallenough](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tallenough).



> I asked Stitchy to prompt me. She said "fluff". I took her at her word.

 

At first, John wonders if there's something wrong with their washing machine or dryer. Then he wonders if it's his eyesight that's going. He changes the filter in the dryer and cleans out the washing machine as best he can, and schedules an eye test. The glasses he comes home with go on the desk in the living room, for when he reads. But still Sherlock routinely sees and brushes off bits of fluff from John's jumpers and shirts, even his trouser leg sometimes as they are driven to and from crime scenes.

It's been happening regularly for some months now, often enough that Sherlock no longer bothers to explain what he's doing. (He only ever did about half the time anyway, to start with, when John asked.)

Realisation comes slowly. The small touches are never inflicted upon him without some warning, and if John is honest with himself, they’re far from unwelcome.

When he thinks he might go mad with the teasingly slight contact, he enacts his plan. It’s not complex. Coming home from the clinic, he wanders around the living room to stand behind Sherlock as he sits in his chair.

“Something in your hair,” he murmurs, running his fingers _oh hell_ through a patch of hair. On his second pass, he barely remembers to excuse himself with an “ah, didn’t get it.” Then he drags his hand away, berating himself for not starting with something easier to resist.

“Ta,” Sherlock rumbles. John flexes his fingers and goes to rummage up some food.

The upshot is that Sherlock takes to ‘fixing’ John’s hair before they leave the house. It becomes so normal that John tends to wait by the door, head turned slightly up, eyes ready to close. He would not be able to look at Sherlock that closely and not give away his desires.

It’s all good.

* * *

When they get home, still panting and grinning from the chase, Sherlock turns to him, dusting off his shoulders and chest. John responds, as he always does now, by pushing Sherlock’s fringe to one side to begin his routine check that he is unharmed. Fingertips skim over scalp, cheekbones, neck, collarbones. Then he reverses direction and touches them all again, just because he can. Ribs always come next, but now he untucks Sherlock’s shirt to hold his hand to bare skin.

“Alright?” He knows Sherlock is uninjured. That is not what he is asking.

Sherlock lifts a hand to John’s face, and brushes his cheek with a thumb.

“Eyelash,” he explains.

“Bullshit,” John counters, smiling and tipping his head into the palm cupping his face. “You just like touching me. Don’t run away,” he continues. “I like touching you too.”

As he leans up to Sherlock’s face, his eyes slip closed. Their lips brush together, but almost immediately Sherlock begins speaking, puffs of air against John’s skin.

“Can’t believe you took so long to figure it out.”

“Did not,” objects John with a laugh. “I knew what you were doing, but - that’s all you were doing. I wasn’t sure this would be welcome.”

“It’s welcome; shut up.”

“You _started_ the talking!”

Sherlock growls and catches John’s lower lip between his teeth, and John laughs more.


End file.
